


kyōka (or; a visible entity that cannot be touched)

by bbymino



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Artist Taehyun, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Temporarily Unrequited Love, University Student Mino, add more tags as i go probably, god these tags, tagging is the worst part bc then u have to reflect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbymino/pseuds/bbymino
Summary: taehyun asks minho to be his muse and then things become complicated.





	kyōka (or; a visible entity that cannot be touched)

**Author's Note:**

> just a short chapter, sort of a prologue to begin with.

Minho flexed the fingers of his right hand, drawing in a deep breath as he uncurled the digits one by one. 

 

The space around him feels absolutely still, he's more focused on his own body and the humming in his ears anyway, not especially focused on becoming aware of anything else in his surroundings. His mind is free to wander, to anything really. 

 

Minho thinks of what he ate for dinner last night, what he wanted to eat for breakfast this morning before deciding not to eat at all. He thinks of today's date, forwards and backwards, month then day then year. Year then day then month. 

 

He thinks of the paper that's due two nights from now, then frowns because he'd rather not think about that right now. 

 

The air around him is stagnant, there's no breeze to chase away the heat simmering under his skin. He closes his flexed fingers, repeating the movement with his left hand this time. 

Minho’s legs ache, and he leans forward more on his chest to even up the weight distribution, sighing lightly in relief when his feet get a break. 

 

In a perfect world, Minho would stand up and stagger a few feet into the plush chair on his right, sag into the cushions and put his feet up to wait for all his aches to go away. 

 

But this is not a perfect world, and currently Minho is bent uncomfortably over a table, nothing to support him except his torso pressed into the surface and his feet still standing on the hardwood floor beneath him. 

 

Minho’s hands would be a valuable asset to his comfort right now, if he could just place them down on the table and push himself up, alleviate the press on his chest and stomach. But as it were, said hands are currently crossed over each other behind his back, kept in place by a patchwork of knots that keep him from moving any part of his arms at all. 

 

The ropes cross his back over and over, interlocking and overlapping in intricate knots and designs that cover his shoulders, arms, and chest as well. The cords on his front are fewer in number, forming simple diamond like designs on his torso, but they become complicated and abundant on his back, pulling his arms tight with no slack until the only thing he can move are his fingers. 

 

Minho can only imagine how he looks right now, that thought alone is enough to drive the heat in his body up another few degrees, coils of arousal beginning to simmer low in his gut. 

 

His eyes are closed; since there's no use trying to look around anyway. His head is kept immobilized and really all he could do is stare straight ahead even if he wanted to open his eyes. The apparatus on Minho’s head prevents him from movement, a silicon ball fitted behind his lips, the straps attached to it form a diamond pattern as they branch from the ones on his cheeks, up to meet just above the bridge of his nose. Upon meeting the straps become one, and it's path leads over his hair, keeping itself centred on his head, around to the back of his neck and connecting just to the left of the buckle. Said buckle is pulled almost too tight, making the leather on his cheeks dig into the skin, bringing the ball further into his mouth. 

 

The ball is solid, has no give at all, just on the side of being too big. It makes his jaw ache a little, and he's unable to swallow around it, evidence of that making itself known in the saliva that's collected around the edges of his mouth and is now dripping down his chin and onto the table underneath him. Minho welcomes the slight discomfort though, it's a little bit of feeling in a moment where nearly the rest of him is numb. 

 

What keeps his head immobile is not the gag itself, but the rope tied to the d-ring on the top of the gag — centred on the crown of his head — which was connected to the spider web of ropes on his back. The tie has no give, keeps his head up and facing forward with no slack.

 

Minho keeps his eyes shut, trying to bring his mind away from the discomfort his body feels and focus on the room around him. 

 

Almost at once he's aware of footsteps a few metres away, soft humming, some popular song that he's heard a thousand times on the radio but never learned the name of. With his eyes closed he can hear so much more, the soft squeak of lighting being adjusted, the straps of a camera being lengthened and shortened to the owner's preference. 

 

Then a much louder noise, the lighting device being dragged across the floor, set up in a favourable position. Minho hears feet

cross the room briskly, the light scrape of curtains being drawn shut. The light in front of his closed eyelids turns from red to black when the sun is abruptly blocked from reaching his face. 

 

Slowly, there's a telltale scratch of a vinyl being placed on the record player he knows sits on an old stand in the corner. The volume is turned up until the scratch is drowned out by soothing piano, an accompanying brass instrument that he searches for the name of but his frazzled mind comes up short. 

 

Minho shifts, hearing more footsteps, much closer this time. He's tense. 

 

Then a hand is on his back, rough fingertips sending shivers through him as they glide over the planes of his shoulders, down his spine, adjust their position so he can only feel the nails when they drag over his ass. He shivers again, face colouring in embarrassment when the hand squeezes, then draws up again with nails. There's probably four red lines on one side of his ass now, and they sting only slightly but it's all he can feel. 

 

“Relax.” 

 

Minho lets out a breath through his nose that he didn't even know he was holding, feeling the sudden rush of pain at the pressure points on the junction between his neck and shoulders when his muscles unwind and stop pressing at the ropes. 

 

“Much better...how do you feel?”

 

The bound boy huffs, being asked a question seems a little cruel when he clearly isn't in any position to answer it. There's a low chuckle from behind him, but Minho doesn't appreciate the joke that much. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm expecting this fic to be pretty long, i'm not sure how long yet but i'll be planning to update at least once a week :))))
> 
> u can find me [here on twitter](https://twitter.com/uninvitd), feel free to dm me feedback or leave a comment :))


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